Painting Myths
by That-Cheeky-Bat
Summary: E. Aster Bunnymund's a struggling artist in Burgess and wants to make it big. But what happens when his prized piece of art starts walking around on him? How is he going to deal with this man in his house that has a personality vaguely similar to his late boyfriend and how can he explain it to his friends? With one masterpiece in his life, why would Aster want another?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: We don't own Rise of the Guardians or these characters!

But **Mox **(**Jimbob**) did come up with this nifty plot, so that belongs to him.

**A/N from Cheeks**: Oh-kay, so...this is co-written by my reviewer **Jimbob Delilah **(henceforth **Mox**). He came up with the concept, I poked him with a few sticks to get the basics out of him, tossed a few ideas his way too with some questions tacked on so I had an idea what world I was working with and then settled in to writing this first Chapter to kinda get the ball rolling, rewrote it and then fixed everything he told me too through the process to fit his original idea.

**A/N from Mox** (**Jimbob**): We made this story while simultaneously talking about jewelry for your genitals, getting distracted and being mutually awful. (we seriously talked about genital bling for like an hour omfg).

So guys now since we've discovered Cheeks and Mox have attention spans of goldfish, enjoy this story and just know that Cheeks isn't doing most of the work...Mox is. Cheeks is just doing all the stick poking, writing with someone to act as a guide and posting it.

Enjoy this first Chapter and let us know if you're interested in Mox's wonderful idea! :)

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**Chapter 1**: The Struggling Artist

E. Aster Bunnymund always wanted to be an artist, specifically a painter. He'd chosen to go down this hard route and found it was fraught with ups and downs, highs and lows. He'd spent a good portion of his younger years eating ramen while crashing on a friend's couch. As it was he had managed to get a few small paying jobs in between each lull in his painting career. That meant that where he _used_ to sleep on someone's couch, he at least now _barely_ made rent every month. He also never had the money in his bank account to afford a car, making public transportation the only thing available to him when it came to getting around the City.

Luckily, the City of Burgess was small—but that still didn't cure the ever inherent strangeness of public transportation. In fact Aster was beginning to worry about his sanity when it came to this particular mode of transportation because he was beginning to pay no mind to the strangeness of its occupants. For example just the other day he'd seen some bloke on the bus sitting in a Speedo swimsuit with sandals on his feet while it was thirty degrees outside and snowing while humming Margarita Ville by Jimmy Buffet…Aster wasn't even phased by the strangeness of that situation. Didn't even double take.

Of course that wasn't the only problem he ran into when it came to living paycheck to paycheck, or in this case commission piece to commission piece, lucky gallery show or flea market enthusiasts who happened to like his art enough to buy it. Not only could Aster not afford a car, but he couldn't afford a decent apartment. The one he rented was a single bedroom on the outskirts of the City, just close enough where if he had to walk somewhere late at night he could do so in the hour but far enough away where he still could see nature outside his second story window. The apartment complex he rented from was fairly worn out, lacked insulation and didn't have a working heater anymore—something Aster had been meaning to fix manually for the past four years and had never got around to it.

The good things about living in this particular City? He was actually known by a lot of the local inhabitants. Most of them, the distant ones who nodded to him since they knew his familiar face, knew him as the 'Australian bloke who paints sceneries', and of course they all knew about the gossip surrounding him. How he'd spent three years dating a man, the first openly gay man within the City, only to have the guy die on him from acute Leukemia that swooped in seemingly from nowhere and took his life within a year. _That_ had been rough to go through, and five years later it still caused Aster's chest to clench painfully.

Unfortunately, Aster had a good bunch of friends—who wouldn't leave him alone. North, for instance, was always there checking up on him at least once every three days—even to this day. He was a boisterous man, a few years older than Aster who was seen as a stand in older brother and close friend for awhile now. North prided himself on looking like Santa Claus and even took it as far as running a toy store in the City. He made mostly custom toys and he sold them during Christmas alongside whatever other companies wanted their toys on his shop's shelves. It was always around this time that North would ask if Aster wouldn't mind being on commission and painting some of his custom toys to help out. Aster would accept, both needing the distraction and the extra income—especially since North seemed to pay him fairly well for the work.

Tooth was the City's local dentist. Her real name was Toothiana Angledesh, but everyone just called her Tooth because of her job. She was a dentist, a _good_ one—if that word could be applied to dentists. She had this nasty habit of calling Aster in for routine checkups that turned into both an examining of his teeth and his mental psyche. He knew she meant well, and she always gave him the checkups for free, but he knew the whole purpose for calling him in. She wanted—cared—about how he was doing, knowing he'd been in deep with Victor and still having a fear that after five years he'd break again. Aster believed he'd scarred her the most that day he'd broken down right in front of her at seemingly random. Aster, six foot one inch, man's man, had broken down and cried like a child seemingly at random a week after Victor's burial.

Victor's death hadn't settled into Aster's bones till he started packing Victor's things up into a wooden box…the reality that he was alone _again_ had shattered Aster and sent him into a deep depression that took two years and a prodding from his annoying neighbor Pitch to get him to crawl from it.

Then there was Sanderson Mansnoozie—he wishes he was kidding about some of these names, but Hippies _had_ left their marks on the inhabitants of this small City. Sandy, as he was referred too, owned a combo furniture and mattress store. He, much like North, constantly commissioned Aster to paint. Only for Sandy it was his store's windows that Aster painted with scenes for Holidays or special sales during certain days of the week. It, just like North's pay, was decent and got him through some of the lulling months—even if it _was_ just barely enough to get by on. It had been Sandy who had been his silent friend who checked up on him at least once a week when Aster happened to cross by his store front on his way home if he happened to be walking that day.

Finally his last friend was Kozmotis Pitchiner-Black, his surly English neighbor. Aster couldn't get anymore mixed messages from him if he _tried_. Some days Pitch was a great neighbor, offering to split meals with Aster if he let him view his pieces early and always there to egg Aster on. Pitch was also cruel other days, berating Aster and telling him to suck an egg—whatever _that_ meant. However bi-polar Pitch's personality was he wasn't _that_ bad of a neighbor and he wrote a hell of a horror story that had, on more than one occasion, given Aster nightmares. Every time Pitch came out with a new book he dropped the first copy off at Aster's door with his signature inside and some insult that would make Aster frown and somehow light a kindling of fire under his ass that made him paint a scene that _usually_ sold—either that or Pitch would buy it, having acquired a taste for one or two of Aster's pieces in the past if they were gloomy enough. Though Pitch did buy the odd green scenery for his daughter in England and he usually paid a little extra because it was a gift.

Aster grunted as the woman next to him bumped into him again. It reminded him that he was on a bus, stuck between the dirty window of the public transportation bus and a heavy set woman who had fallen asleep at some point in the past five minutes and was allowing hiccupping snores out every few breaths. _This_ was why Aster had started thinking about his friends. He had needed a distraction from _where _he was at the moment and thinking about how his friends kept asking after him constantly to make sure he was alright was a hell of a distraction. They also tended to make sure he was eating food and wasn't shirking getting better if he happened to get sick—even though he was a thirty year old man and perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Of course thinking about his friends and how they worried over him, treated him like he was fragile, always made him remember the exact reason to why. Their worry was justified due to the fact that they'd been there as Victor's health faltered—quickly. They'd been there with Aster when Victor lost his mop of brown hair to the chemo and radiation treatments the Doctors had hoped would help. But the thing that stuck with all of them? They'd been there with Aster as he watched his boyfriend die from acute leukemia, all of them were there as Victor took his last breath before he flat lined at three o'clock in the morning…November 5th 2009.

Aster was still stunned to this day over Victor's death; the breath still whooshed from his lungs as if he'd been kicked in the chest. His chest still hurt as the memories shot back to the surface and how he felt as if he'd blinked and Victor was gone. He'd fallen into that depression shortly after, neglecting to do much of anything for two years before Sandy was the first person to find a way to break him from it by starting the odd commission job to paint the windows of his mattress store. Then North had followed suit and sometimes he got roped into doing Tooth's windows as well. Then there was Pitch, his snarky neighbor who had his nose so far up his own arse that Aster swore he could only see himself—until that day Pitch had brought him tea. It was such a simple thing to do…but at the time it spoke every word Pitch would never mutter: "Sorry for your loss," before Pitch was right back to being his regular asshole-ish self. But then again his neighbor was always there to irritate the hell out of him and egg him into proving that Aster _could_ survive just fine as an artist, with or without Victor by his side.

In an odd way Pitch had made, _was_ making, Aster stay and fight…and it had and always would work because he wasn't one to give up hope—and he sure as hell wasn't going to let Pitch prove he was right.

As his bus stop neared Aster realized he was once again facing one of those downward spirals of being a struggling artist after today's needed purchases as he ticked them off in his head. Aster felt a constant looming darkness over his shoulders though as he went about his day. In the back of his mind he knew today was the day before the five year anniversary of Victor's death.

He didn't want it to put a damper on his day, but it did. Luckily he'd learned how to deal with it, that and he let out a mournful groan as he realized the hefty paycheck he'd made with a recent painting was finally going to be used up.

As it was Aster had struck luck recently and managed to sell a painting—brush on canvas with acrylic paints—for a hefty amount of money. It had been lucky, of course, but it had got him through the past three months without a hitch and even allowed him to pay off his tab at the local Chinese food joint. The owners of the restaurant trusting him to pay them back when he didn't have the money to buy the food from them that they always seemed to have at the ready for him on those late nights. That was another benefit of coming from a fairly small City; it was easy to know who held true to their word and who didn't, and Aster was one of the ones who held true to his words.

Aster huffed in a sharp breath as he was bumped into for the umpteenth time that day within the confines of the bus. He glared out the window, trying to ignore the hefty woman next to him that had fallen asleep and kept tilting into him with hiccupping snores. He hoped some day to make it big so he no longer had to ride the bus—that was the _one_ thing he dreamed of, aside from being able to see Victor at least once more.

He hated that wants like that were things of fairy tales.

Hell he wished riding the bus was a fairy tale because it was by far one of the _worst_ experiences he'd ever had the pleasure of experiencing, even if it _was_ amusing at times.

Right now, though, was _not_ an amusing time.

He pushed from his seat when his stop came up and he couldn't get out from the cramped space between the woman and the side of the bus fast enough. He nearly ate pavement rushing from the confines of the bus and sucked in a sharp breath when he got outside into the crisp, snow drift laden, air. He straightened and adjusted his messenger bag as he headed for his first stop of the day: Michael's. He needed a few more canvases and a new selection of paints to add to his already expansive collection, that and they were on sale today. He ambled up to the entrance and stepped through, wandering the aisles and nodding to everyone he happened to know who bothered to greet him.

He hefted up a larger than normal canvas as he passed by it in the sale rack on his way to the cash register and set it along with three medium sized canvases and the selection of paints he had chosen by the cashier. He dug out his wallet, paid for the materials and hefted them into his hands. From there he met up with North for a quick lunch day since he had the time and took North up on his offer to help him paint toys again for the upcoming Christmas Holiday—a way to distract Aster from the fact that it was the day before Victor had died.

"North…it's early November." Aster muttered, snorting his distaste of people who jumped on the Christmas Holiday too early.

"Nonsense! Is never too early for Christmas cheer!" North bellowed out happily, clapping Aster on his shoulder and asking if he needed a ride anywhere before he departed.

Aster thanked North for the ride downtown to the smaller shopping district that was nearest his apartment and shoved on with his day. He dropped by a few other stores before he stumbled upon a recently opened antique store. He tilted his head in curiosity, stepping inside and setting his bags down by the front clerk when he asked him too. Aster spent he didn't know how long gandering at all the neat things within that particular store before he halted, staring at the paint brush that looked worn out but still in good condition when it came to the brush. He noticed it sat in a wooden case on top of a velvet cloth.

"It's twenty bucks." The clerk said from the front, jarring Aster from his staring.

"Why's it twenty?" Aster asked, cocking a brow as he turned halfway to look at the clerk.

The guy looked bored, staring over the rim of his glasses, white hair balding and his rounded features reminding Aster a little bit of Sandy. He wore a simple white shirt with the name of his antique store on the right breast and stood to reveal he was wearing jeans and work boots on his feet. The clerk urged Aster aside and opened the case, pulling out the paintbrush and showing it to Aster.

"Rumor is the man who paints with this brush gets the gift of a new life." The clerk stated, chuckling. "Apparently it brings the Artist good luck, fame and fortune. Maybe you should consider it."

Aster narrowed his eyes towards the clerk, grinding his teeth in irritation towards the man who had just mocked him. "Ya sayin' Ah ain't got it in me ta do somethin' worth a damn on mah own?"

The clerk chuckled. "No, I'm saying sometimes you need a little _help_. Tell you what; I'll give it to you for ten. Fifty percent off because I can't seem to get anyone else to pick it up."

Aster frowned. He sucked in a sharp breath, deciding to trust his hope that maybe; just maybe, this paintbrush would do exactly what he needed it too: get him from struggling artist to successful painter. He let his mind wander off in that direction for a moment before he nodded, slapping ten dollars onto the clerk's glass counter and watching as he wrote up—_wrote up_—a receipt. Aster tucked the paintbrush away with his other groceries and made two to three more stops before he hauled it all upstairs into his apartment, shivering as he stepped into what felt like a perma cold apartment. He could never seem to get heat to stay in the bloody place, and he had made sure all the windows and doors were tightly closed all the time. He set away to putting his materials away after shrugging into a sweatshirt with paint splotches on it.

He tucked away some groceries in his small kitchenette after crossing through the living room section of his single bedroom apartment. He then stepped over to the right where the dining room table was supposed to be and settled in with setting up his canvases, paints and set the new paintbrush he'd purchased on the small TV tray he used to hold his brushes and water jars. He turned to the right, setting his newly bought paints to the right on the opposing TV tray and turned from there, intent on getting food into his rumbling stomach.

He paced back through his fairly vacant apartment. He only had a small TV and a couch his neighbor had handed to him when they had moved. He barely had five plates for food, tended to accumulated a wide array of cups for some reason—most likely due to his obsession with drinking tea—and to top it all off he only had a small set of silverware he kept in a drawer. Aster sucked in a sharp breath hours later, tapping his new paintbrush on his paint tray and chewed on his lower lip as he gazed out at the wintery scene in front of him.

It had been Victor's favorite thing about the City. The fact that it snowed during the end of the year and that it was cold. Victor also tended to like certain colors, so naturally Aster had to do something with blues, blacks, whites—colors one would associate with frost and cold, Victor's favorite colors. He continued to tap his paintbrush on the tray he held, waiting for inspiration to hit and glancing up at the moon that was being eclipsed by a cloud. He pursed his lips, tilting his head and beginning to see something of interest inside his mind with Victor's anniversary on the horizon acting as his influence. He turned to his wide array of colors and set away to laying out his palette for this chosen piece. Frosty blues, deep blues, white—then he saw the image in his head and smirked at the man whose face popped up into his head.

It was so familiar to Aster during the Winter time and it was something Victor would go nuts over when Aster finished it. It was going to be a portrait, and he hoped it brought him luck, fame and fortune.

Aster picked his starting point, having gone past that need to outline anything and being able to place everything he needed on the canvas after a few calculating twists and turns of his wrist and the paintbrush. He measured out where he wanted the man's image, fooled around with what could be the background scenery and then set away to painting—losing himself to the process and riding off the memories of _fun _until he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and gazing at the man in front of him on the canvas.

Bright icy blue eyes stared back at Aster with a glitter of humor and a sheen of fun to them. Snow white adorned the man's head, in a choppy, mop, style that gave him a young boy-ish charm. His skin was pale, milky white, his face sporting a strong square jaw on an oval face. Aster stared at the buttoned nose that he'd adorned with a barely visible sheen of freckles that flushed outwards to his cheeks and then his eyes roamed downward to the thin lips. This was where a part of Victor showed in through the image. Aster had made the man in the portrait smile the same bright and healthy one he remembered so well and missed so dearly on a daily basis. As it was Aster found himself choking up and forcibly blinking back the tears that threatened to overspill with pride as he realized he'd inadvertently brought his favorite piece of Victor out into the picture—even though Victor was only a pleasant memory to draw upon for inspiration. Aster found himself remembering the love he'd felt each time that smile had been directed towards him all over again. The portrait had turned into a homage to Victor, but wasn't entirely him. The character Aster had created on the canvas held only one or two aspects of Victor; the rest of him encompassed the feeling of the scenery in front of Aster: snowballs that could be made from the snow drifts outside and fun times that could be had within the Winter wonderland beyond his window. However it didn't change the fact that this was probably one of Aster's personal bests.

He smirked at the image, then sent his gaze to the reflection of himself in his own window and nodded smugly. Oh yea, he'd definitely be noticed for _this_ piece—_had_ to be. He'd just created a character out of thin air by using the scene in front of him and combining it with the memories and ghostings of his late boyfriend's charming personality. He stepped back as he began to clean up, wiping his hands on a wet towel to try to get a majority of the paint from them as he decided on a name for the image in front of him. He was always a fan of the name Jack…but what could be the bloke's last name? He tilted his head back and forth again like a dog assessing what a noise was before he heard it like a gust of wind: _Frost_.

Jack Frost.

Aster's eyes flicked outside the window and saw the snow starting to fall in a light dusting. He nodded at the name. It sounded perfect and fit the bloke in front of him perfectly.

Aster chuckled as he grabbed up his signature paintbrush and dabbled the title onto the back along with his elegant signature that looked like calligraphy. He set away his equipment after that, stepping from the portrait and into the bathroom where he cleaned up, dressed for bed and took a few hours to sleep before he had to get up and try to paint something else to sell at the Sunday flea market before he headed to Victor's grave later that day. He flopped onto his bed, sighing out and nuzzling his nose into the bed sheets before he crawled under them.

At some point in the night he felt an especially cold gust of wind around him.

He shrugged it off as nothing more than the wind, cracking an eye and seeing nothing out of place before he cuddled back into his sheets and nodded off to sleep again.

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Co-writing is so much fun...Yep we did it again, got distracted not two seconds after I typed the above out. This is going to be slow goings guys if we can't stay on topic for more than 5 seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: We don't own Rise of the Guardians or these characters!

**A/N** (Cheeks): So...this Chapter shoulda been posted 5 days ago...thanks Jack/Rabbit week. Surprisingly I managed to crank this out to **Mox**'s full liking, taking suggestions he handed me when I pitted questions to him and adding in my two cents as well. We both giggled at Aster tip-toeing across his apartment (I've done it, it's the devil incarnate). We've got next the Chapter plotted...now to keep from giggling like a couple of twats as Cheeks writes it...slowly but surely.

No Author's note from Mox...guys he's already slacking off on me ;)

Okay so here's Chapter 2 guys. Hope you like it!

Enjoy :)

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Chapter 2: En Masse

Aster's alarm clock sounded and he cracked an eye to glare at the thing. He wriggled his arm out from under his toasty warm sheets and slammed his hand down on the snooze button before he turned the alarm clock off with a heavy sigh. He unwillingly hefted himself up from his bed, keeping some of his warm sheets around him, and acted in a manner similar to a child who didn't want to go to school…but it had nothing to do with the fact that he wasn't willing to face a new day—it was the fact that he'd have to step out into the permanent cold of the apartment from his hard earned warmth.

As it was Aster sucked in a sharp breath and steadied his nerves, hedging a toe out from below his warm sheets and hissing in a sharp breath of distaste at the bitter cold that swallowed up his warm toe in seconds. He shuddered, stepping from below the bed sheets in sweatpants and a long sleeved cotton top. He tip toed across the freezing cold hardwood floor while all the while letting a whispered string of curses and swears that his mother would've pulled his ears for upon hearing before he finally made it to his destination: the single fluffy mat in front of the sink that kept his feet from touching the chilled floor while his breath nearly fogged out in front of him.

He shivered and gave his biceps a quick rubbing, turning on the sink and waiting for it to warm up before he splashed hot water on his face, followed shortly by brushing his teeth before he ran his hand along his jaw—feeling the stubble there. He frowned at it, debating about whether or not he could get through today without shaving before he shrugged it off. He could stall off shaving until tomorrow. For now he had to get to the flea market early to stake out a spot and hope he sold something worthwhile.

Aster stepped back out into his bedroom after relieving himself and tugged on his boxers, jeans, long-sleeved thermal shirt, layered jacket and then tugged on thick socks followed by his rugged hiking boots. He tucked his fingerless gloves into his pocket and grabbed the scarf hanging from his mirror over his dresser on his way into the living room.

He stepped over to his fridge and dug around for a couple of eggs, popping them into a saucepan of water to boil and set away to making toast as well. As he waited for those things to cook he stepped towards the portrait he'd done last night. He smirked at his, feeling pride in his chest as he looked at the man he had created and just _knowing_ he'd get a pretty penny and a hefty price tag for this particular piece. It was too perfect, just right…and did it just move?

Aster blinked, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head as he directed his gaze back to the portrait. He studied it intently for a moment, raising his hand and measuring with his thumb to make sure it hadn't moved from its original place. He let out a relieved sigh when nothing seemed odd or out of place. He laughed nervously towards it, realizing it was nothing more than his eyes playing tricks on him in the early morning. He yawned again, freezing when he swore something else moved in the portrait.

Aster sucked in a sharp breath and stepped towards the portrait. He cocked a brow towards it, sucking in another sharp breath when he _swore _he saw the corner of the man's lip twitch before he jumped at the spring loaded toaster going off. Aster swallowed his heart that had jumped into his throat with the freight and attempted to calm the thumping heartbeat in his ears before he turned from the portrait and shook off his morning daze. It _had _to be a morning daze. He settled away to getting his breakfast sorted, eaten and then packed up all of his things to take them to the flea market.

He sent one last wary look back at the portrait, rolling his eyes when nothing moved in that short amount of time he stared at it before he stepped out into the hallway and locked his apartment door behind him. He sauntered down the stairs with his large bag filled with already finished pieces and empty, small, canvases that he would work on while sitting and waiting for someone to buy one of his pieces. He stepped onto the bus when it arrived—late as always—and found himself setting up on one of the fold out tables within the confines of the flea market shortly after.

Of course, it was also _freezing_ outside as well.

Hell he wouldn't be _in_ this cold weather if he had the choice, but he needed to scrape together as much money as possible and if that meant getting frostbite then so be it. One had to make a living after all.

Aster's teeth clattered together and he rubbed his slowly freezing hands together to get them to warm up before he settled into attempting to paint…which was interrupted by frequent needs to flex his fingers, circle his wrist and shoulder before that was interrupted with frequent pauses to stick his hands into his pockets to get some relief from the cold. He curled into his coat and glared at the snow that was piled along the ground in clumps.

He liked Winter, mainly because it gave lead to one of his personal favorite times of the year Spring, but he couldn't stand the cold that went with this particular season. He _cursed_ it.

Aster glanced back down at his piece and sucked in a fortifying breath before he yanked his hands back from their refuge and settled them back into painting again. He zoned out, nodding briefly if someone walked past to gander and snapping to attention when he heard a familiar booming Russian voice.

Aster glanced up from his halfway finished piece and grinned up to North and then glanced over to Tooth and gave her another grin as well.

"Hey mates, good mornin'." Aster stated setting the piece he'd been painting down to give his friends his full attention while a few people milled about.

"Bunny you get over here and you give me a hug right now." Tooth stated with an air of command, even if the bright smile on her face negated that sharp tone.

"A'right, Ah'm comin'." Aster rolled his eyes playfully and stood up, embracing Tooth into a hug after he'd walked around the tables. It came as no surprise that after stepping back from Tooth North grabbed him up into a rib crushing hug that was accompanied by a bellowing laugh full of joy. "North, North! Can't breathe!"

North dropped him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and then giving Aster a sharp shake. "Bunny, is good to see you. How has day been so far?"

Aster shrugged flippantly before his brain picked up on North's somewhat worried tone and began working again—realization smacking into his head like a boomerang on its return.

Victor's anniversary.

Today was Victor's anniversary…and he'd almost forgotten.

Aster's mood dipped and he watched as Tooth gave North a sharp elbow to his side that had the six foot four Russian puffing out a sharp breath. Aster sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, stepping back behind his table and helping one of the people who held up a small canvas that he was selling for twenty five. He took the forty dollars offered and gave her change before he glanced over to Tooth and North who were harshly whispering back and forth.

"Mates, Ah'm fine. Really." He partially lied. He _was_ fine, he hurt emotionally of course, but he wouldn't break…again. "Look, its fine."

He gave them both a sheepish grin. Aster tilted his head to the side as he helped another customer, watching as Tooth and North interacted like the married couple they refused to be. Tooth was small, five foot eight inches and birdlike in the way she moved. She seemed to flit or jerk sharply with each scathing reprimand that slipped from her lips as she berated North for reminding Aster what today was. Aster handed over the change for another customer and cleared his throat in an attempt to gather their attention.

It didn't work.

Tooth, as small as she was, reminded Aster of the _literal_ imagery that went along with the term 'spitfire'. She may be innocent looking with her dark skin with wide, pink contact colored eyes, regal nose and thin lips—but she had a harsh edge that she only let out on a _few_ individuals. North happened to be one of them.

Aster watched as Tooth pulled off her hat and adjusted her hair, revealing thick, wavy black locks that had stripes of colors within it that reminded Aster of a Hummingbird. She pulled her hat back on after giving her angular bangs a quick tossing and then placed her delicate, small, hands onto her wide hips. She leaned forward and rattled off reprimands so fast and in such quick succession that Aster had a hard time even keeping track of what she was yelling at North about.

As it was North stood there, arms crossed, nose cold nipped and red, looking at Tooth with a gleam of wonder to his eyes that did nothing more than irritate her. North combed pieces of his black hair back from his face that had escaped the low sitting ponytail, the ends curling, as he shook his head and made disgruntled noises that were supposed to be his counter arguments. North huffed a heavy breath and lifted a hand to run it over his anchor style beard that adorned his jaw as he intently listening to the woman he'd described as his 'angel moy' frequently. Aster shook his head, his gaze darting between North and Tooth.

"Bunny, I need to ask you something." Tooth stated, turning from North after handing him one last tongue lashing. Aster nodded, glancing to Tooth briefly before North threw his hands up into the air behind the small, ferocious, woman and then looked back to Tooth.

"What is it?" He asked, gathering another chunk of money and honestly surprised that he'd managed to sell three low-cost paintings.

"Well seeing as its Victor's anniversary…would you like to come by for dinner? With us?" Tooth asked, her tone taking on a pleading one. "It's just that we worry…"

Aster rolled his eyes. They'd _worried_ over him for three years too long. He lifted his hand and nodded when she caught the eye roll.

"Ah'll be there after Ah drop off some flowers fer Victor." Aster mentally gave himself a cookie for not choking on Victor's name. "What're we havin'?"

Tooth grinned, setting away to giving him a full on list of meals to which she could easily cook up and serve. Aster felt overwhelmed by the end of the list to the point where he'd stopped computing and had just turned to staring with a dumbfounded expression. Aster shook his head when someone pushed money at him, a fourth painting sold, before he looked back at Tooth with a cocked brow.

"Let's just go with the Chicken Alfredo, eh?" He told her, wincing when she squealed excitedly and clapped her hands together.

"Alright. I'll have it ready by about oh…six alright for you?" Tooth asked.

"Ah'll be there." Aster told her, waving as she gathered North's arm and led him off—more reprimands following as their backs met Aster.

He snorted. Tooth was a handful, but North seemed to have found something to love about her so who was he to judge? That and she really was a nice sheila. A little rough around the edges at times but she _had_ clobbered Pitch that one time. Aster snorted out a quick laugh, remembering how Tooth had offered to fix Pitch's tooth since she felt especially bad about knocking one of his back molars off in a fit of rage.

Course Pitch had it coming—limey prick usually did. He'd been standing there prodding Aster for most of the evening about how life without Victor was going to the point where Aster had _literally_ dropped everything he was doing to walk outside before he committed manslaughter. Tooth, however, hadn't had the dignity to do that. She'd just straight clocked him with her good ol' right hook to his jaw line.

Aster hadn't seen a man drop so fast—nor did it escape his notice that Pitch tended to flinch around Tooth on the off chances they ran into each other these days.

Aster sold one more painting that day, racking up over a hundred dollars, before he went and spent forty of that on the bouquet of roses he was going to adorn Victor's grave with. Aster dropped by his apartment on the way to the graveyard to drop off his art supplies, sending an assessing glance over to the portrait and sighing in relief when nothing looked amiss.

He walked from his apartment building back out to the bus where he climbed onto it, sat near the front since he only needed to ride it for a few blocks, before he stepped from the bus and started his brisk walk down the street. He found his chest clenching as he got closer and closer to the graveyard, memories zipping through his mind as he thought about all those _years_ he'd spent with Victor. Every happy moment, adorned with that _damn_ smile of his and that infectious ability to make everyone laugh.

Aster halted, staring down at the gravestone and swallowing past the lump that had gathered in his throat as he knelt down. He pried his gloves off his hands and placed them in his lap, leaning forward and giving the cold tombstone a light touch with the barest edge of his calloused fingers brushing it. His breath shuddered out and he quickly swiped away the errant tear that had tried to escape as he set the bouquet of roses down.

"Listen," Aster cleared his throat, sucking in another shuddering breath, "Listen, mate, Ah miss ya every day. Ah'd be lying if Ah said it wasn't hard ta get through every day without ya sitting there grinnin' at me just _waiting_ fer me ta either say something ta ya—or on some occasions ya had some bloody prank set up and that _damn_ camera at the ready." Aster snorted out a quick, sad, laugh and shook his head. "Ah know we had our rough spots there near the end, how ya tried ta push me away…Ah never got ta tell ya that Ah loved ya one last time before that coma took ya—didn't get ta see that gorgeous smile of yers light up those eyes. Ah know ya wanted me ta move on, and Ah'm tryin', but at the moment Ah can't seem ta."

Aster huffed and rubbed the back of his neck. He always felt self conscious about talking to a slab of prettied up cement, yet he couldn't _help_ talking to the grave below him. It just felt _wrong _to stand there and do nothing more than wallow and stare. Talking…talking was a good way to get rid of the silence of the graveyard and fill it up with something familiar—something that wasn't so offsetting. Aster straightened, wiping away an errant tear and grinning down at the cement slab.

"Ah loved ya, mate." Aster stated, stepping back from the grave and clearing his throat one last time. "Ah _love_ ya still ta this day, and Ah want ya ta know Ah'm tryin' ta move on like ya wanted. Aster sent one last sad grin towards the grave. "Maybe ya should help me out in that regard, eh?" Aster chuckled as he vaguely heard what sounded like Victor's laugh in the cold gust of wind that went by. Aster rolled his eyes at his own fairytale thought and turned from the grave to start heading for Tooth's place, tossing over his shoulder a, "Love ya Victor. Ah'll see ya again next year."

It wasn't long before Aster was sitting in North and Tooth's home, a two bedroom two and a half bathroom home towards the center of the City, watching the two argue over what to drink.

"Wine." Tooth snapped.

"Screwdriver with Russian made vodka." North shot back just as heatedly.

Aster rolled his eyes. "Ah'll take a bloody glass of water please."

Tooth turned a smile towards Aster and a glare towards North before North sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat, as he gathered up a glass and filled it with water. North marched from the kitchen with a relieved looking Tooth behind him as he set the glass down on the dinner table and took a seat as a wine cork was popped. Aster nodded his thanks to North and drank down half the glass of water before he had food in front of him.

It wasn't long before Sandy showed up and they settled into a hot and delectable meal that consisted of Chicken Alfredo, Caesar salad and for dessert was a freshly made Banana cream pie. After being bogged down with another onslaught of questions pertaining to how he was doing Aster let out a relieved sigh as he stepped from the warmth of the house and into the frigid air outside.

Solace in the cold…how ironic.

Aster stepped briskly towards the bus stop, getting on and heading home. As much as he _liked_ his friends, sometimes they could be a little overbearing. It made him feel like he was their son in a way, even though he was at least ten years within North's age. Aster scoffed, stepping from the bus and up into the building that held his apartment. He stepped through his apartment door and flicked on the light with a wide yawn following its opening before he heard the scuffing of shoes behind him and smelled that enticing scent of tea.

"Pitch." Aster stated, turning and accepting the mug of tea from the man who stood a foot below North and tended to loom like a shadow.

"Aster, how went the day?" Pitch asked, stepping right past Aster.

"By all means, come in." Aster murmured sarcastically, watching as Pitch made himself at home as he began to examine all the details of Aster's apartment—his usual ordeal. "Pitch, mate…what do ya want?"

"I'm in need of another landscape for dear Emily." Pitch stated with a shrug. "She'd actually like to commission the piece this time, says she'd like to speak to you over the phone about it. Won't tell me anything of it—what is this?"

Aster watched as Pitch halted in front of the portrait. Aster took another healthy gulp of tea and stepped up next to Pitch, crossing his right arm across his chest and settling his hand on the opposing bicep as he lifted his cup of tea and took another drink.

"Newest piece."

"Done quite well." Pitch murmured, lifting a hand and lightly brushing the portrait.

"Ya know Ah hate it when ya do that." Aster griped, swatting Pitch's hand away from the piece. "What part of look but don't touch do ya not understand?"

"Mmm." Pitch grunted out, tilting his head and settling those cold gray eyes with a ring of gold around the pupils on the piece. "It would make you a good chunk of money you know."

"Ah'm aware." Aster muttered, finishing up his mug of tea and hoping it would push Pitch from his bloody apartment so he could go to bed and just be _done_ with today. "Pitch, mate, Ah'm glad ya came by ta visit and all with a commission in tow but really Ah'd like ta get ta bed."

"I'll buy it for a million." Pitch murmured, nodding his head towards the piece in front of him and raising his brows. "Two?"

Aster sputtered. "What? No! Ah want ta show it at a gallery first before Ah off and sell it ta the highest bidder. Somethin' like this needs ta be shown first _before_ it's owned."

Pitch frowned, taking the empty mug from Aster's hand and nodding. "Fine, just let me know when you're willing to part with this particular piece. It really is enthralling."

Aster grunted his answer, showing Pitch the door and having to clamp down on his urge to slam it right into Pitch's arse as he stepped through the doorframe. Aster threw the bolt lock, then turned the knob lock before he pressed his back into the door and let out a heavy sigh.

"What a bloody day. What _else_ can possibly happen to make this any worse?" He griped as he pushed from the apartment door and headed straight into his bathroom with a wide yawn.

He showered, changed into his warmest set of pajamas—adding socks this time to his feet to make the chill of the floor in the morning not cut as deep as it had—and settled into sleep. His eyes drooped and he nodded off, feeling a chilled gust of wind again but too drained to lift an eye.

At some point in the night he felt something especially cold curl up next to him. At first he had shied away from it before he cuddled into that cold, intent to warm it up and being none the wiser to what he'd wake up too in the morning.

* * *

Responses:

**Good Witch of Babble**: We hope it'll be a favorite :) We are kinda attached to it lol.

**Shanatic**: Hahaha...hey where's My Regular update D: (just kidding Cheeks knows your family is driving you mad). Maybe we should just hook you up to a tea IV.

**Mox wtf are you doing in the comments page you ****_wrote_**** part of this fucking** **thing?!**: I am not the fuck amused Mox, get outta the comments page or I _will_ sign your ass up for the Twilight remake because I will _cover_ your ass in glitter.

**Optimistic Emo Kleptomaniac**: (heart) (heart) (heart) We love you (heart).

**Tigermike83**: (Cheeks pushes Mox aside) Yeap, that'll be all me. Totally taking credit for that shit. No...no Mox no! DAMNIT MOX I SAID NO (fights back against Mox).

**Sticksandstones** (**Sinister 137**, yeeap I remembered): Can we have fan art if you've got the spare time ;D Just kidding you don't have too, but do you mind if I reference the abstract art info you gave us? I can just see Pitch delivering that line to Aster and if we get your OK for that then we'd greatly appreciate it :) As for Aster, it took Cheeks a moment to get the character rounded out but eventually Cheeks got it sorted. As for Jack? Well Mox insisted not to answer that question till Chapter 3 ;)


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